Once again, to Zelda
by Nails For Your Crucifix
Summary: I guess you could call this a crossover with Sandman and A Moveable Feast but this has nothing to do with Ernest Hemingway. It's just a story about another author, Desire, Despair and Del. Please R&R.


I guess this is kind of like a Sandman/A Moveable Feast crossover but it's not really. This has nothing to do with Ernest Hemingway. Neil Gaiman created the Endless and the other people are real but dead. Takes place in the 1920's and centers on an author and the 3 youngest of the Endless.  
  
Once Again, To Zelda  
  
I don't understand why they keep bothering me. It isn't all of them. Those three are the only ones that ever seem to bother me. They are with me day after day and no one sees them except for my wife, Zelda, and me. She can see them too. Usually she talks to the little one. She has disoriented conversations and after they are finished she is usually happy. I don't talk to any of them. I just see them watching me. I see the woman with the barbed ring most of the time. She is in my mirror and she just stares at me. Sometimes she will ask me questions like, "Why don't you stay with me?" I don't like them that much. I thought that Paris would be the best place to get away from them. There were so many other people to talk to, so much bohemian life and energy. But they insist on hounding me. The other one, I can't tell if it's a man or a woman, just stares at us. It sits in the corner at all the parties that we attend and talks to everyone even though they cannot hear or do not wish to. I can never seem to get away from them. Even now, in the Dingo bar, in the company of two very nice gentlemen by the names of Hemingway and Chaplin, I can feel their eyes pierce the back of my head and I hear their conversations at the next table.  
  
"He should be in my realm," began a rather raspy voice that I could tell was the woman with the barbed ring. "He drinks all the time. His wife is in your realm, youngest sister. He should be in one of out realm, but still, he eludes us. How can this be?"  
  
"I honestly do not understand these mortals," began another soft melodious voice. It seemed to be speaking to me. I wasn't paying attention to the conversation I was having with Mister Hemingway and Mister Chaplin. I could only hear what they were talking about. "I mean, they try so desperately to remain in control of their own lives. They try to stay away from us." It sat beside me, placing its hands on my shoulders and running them through my hair and across my chest. "Why do you resist me Scott," it whispered in my ear, so that if the others had seen it, they would not have been able to hear the words that it said. "Wouldn't your world be so much better if you just gave in? It doesn't matter who you stayed with. Wouldn't it be easy if it was one of us? Life would be better for both parties concerned." It stopped talking and pressed itself close to me, caressing the side of my face ever so gently and returned to its siblings.  
  
"I think it would maybe be easier if he stayed with me because then he could be with his wife again. She's really nice and he seems nice too." The youngest one, the one I had seen talking to Zelda many times, was talking now and was soon sent into a fit of giggles that caused rainbow fish to fall from her hair. "I would like it if he stayed with me. He is really pretty. Nice wavy hair and um a strong chin. Yeah that's it. A nice strong chin and nose. I like him. Don't you think that he's pretty?" She erupted into another fit of giggles.  
  
"Please try to keep yourself composed Delirium," the fat woman said. "We are in public."  
  
"Come now my twin," it said in a soothing voice. "It's not like they can see us. They only see us when they want to and we know that he has seen us in far worse condition than this."  
  
"Maybe you are correct."  
  
"He acts kind of like some of my butterflies," said the one that they called Delirium. "They are very sad now but they are still really pretty. They have yellow pattern in the shape of eyes but sometimes they change to blue but they are never yellow and blue. At least I don't think that they have different colored eyes. I'm the only one that has different colored eyes. They all saw that they have wings and patterns on their wings and then after that they didn't fly. Um, I guess they don't want to fly and they just remember when they had loved it and it had been easy. I guess he is um kind of like them 'cause he acts kind of like them. I guess. He's kind of like them because he is pretty too but he doesn't have the patterns of eyes on his wings. I don't think he wants to see his wings. He saw them once and now he doesn't want to see them but he still remembers what they look like."  
  
"What are you getting at my sister?" They seem very agitated now. Maybe it is because they have spent so much time waiting for me and I just will not go with them. But, they have all the time in the world to wait for anyone.  
  
"Well just, I don't know what I mean anymore. I kind of lost track a while back. I don't know. It all gets so confusing sometimes," she whispered. "But I still think that he's pretty even though he doesn't fly anymore."  
  
"Scott, are you okay Scott." The voices of my friends seem distant and all I can really hear is the three of them, beckoning me to them. But this has happened many times before.  
  
"God look at him. What's wrong with him?"  
  
"Oh don't worry. He'll be fine later," said Chaplin.  
  
We got into the taxi and drove off, and I saw Ernest a few days later. He told me that he was sorry that I had been affected the way I had.  
  
"What are you talking about?" I asked him. "There was nothing wrong with me at the Dingo. I simply got tired of those absolutely bloody British you were with and went home."  
  
"There weren't any British when you were there Scott. Only the bartender."  
  
"Don't try to make a mystery of it. You know the ones I mean." I said this because it seemed like a better answer than the truth. But, that is always the fashion when one tells stories. Lies are truths and truths become the best fairy tales. We talked various things including my newly published book. It wasn't selling that well but it had gotten rather good reviews.  
  
"The Great Gatsby. It's an excellent work Scott. You should be proud." He said this, gave the book back to me and went on his way. Soon, someone else filled his seat.  
  
"Ernest was right Scott," the melodious voice began. "You should be proud. I could just see myself at all the parties. You captured me perfectly. I could see you and Zelda as Daisy Buchanan and Jay Gatsby. Your life is so much like that story. You tried to give her everything. But I could also see that Gatsby was like my brother, a hopeless romantic. He's always searching for his unrequited love or something like that and he has gotten himself into much trouble because of it. My sisters' think that it's wonderful too. Well, the two that you have met. We've been with you through the entire process of writing it. You've come a long way."  
  
"Yes Scott," Despair began. I somehow knew their names though I suspect that I have known them for some time now. "It is a great book."  
  
"So who's it for?" asked the young one.  
  
And for the first time, I spoke to them. "It is simply for Zelda." Then I knew that this would always be my story. They didn't speak to me after that. They smiled, pleased that I had finally decided to stop avoiding them. They just smiled. 


End file.
